


the deal

by TrulyCertain



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Deathfic, Dismemberment, Gen, POV Outsider, but it is there, only a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 15:37:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16875534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyCertain/pseuds/TrulyCertain
Summary: Some Dvali harvesters contemplate a new arrival they dragged out of the river.





	the deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JulyanC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyanC/gifts).



> Inspired by this beautifully drawn, bleak artwork by soothsayerc/dinkyicarus (NSFW for death, injury and male-presenting nipples): http://soothsayerc.tumblr.com/post/180391459875/nsfw-doodle

“What the hell took this thing down? It looks like a fucking tank.” Ivan exhales smoke, flicking away ash, and a few pieces fall on the half-open bag. They scatter against pale skin and Typhoon ports. Maybe its occupant would protest, if he was alive enough to notice.

At his bench, McCain squints and holds up a gold lens to his eye. It was a quick extraction, unpretty, but even fancy augs don’t stand up to heavy-duty pliers given long enough and when their owner isn’t moving. “Looks like someone…”

Ivan sighs, and interrupts lazily, “HUD on.”

As expected, the lens stays dull, and McCain shakes his head. “It’ll be set to his voiceprint. This is… this is the good stuff. Hey, pass me that?” He opens and closes his hand, in a  _Give it to me_ gesture.

“ _Please_. Or next time I’m cutting that off and selling it too.” But Ivan hands it over.

The hearts always look smaller, when they aren’t beating. Weigh more than you’d think, too. McCain wipes off some of the blood with his thumb and squints at the small-print, the logo by the valve. “See,” and Ivan comes over at that, squinting too, “I thought this might be one of the TYM knockoffs, some of them even remember the little wing, but… I think this guy’s  _actually_  Sarif tech. Pretty new Sarif tech, too.” He looks over his shoulder, back to the bag. “Designs like those, we’re talking 2026, 2027?”

Ivan frowns. “Dvali?”

“Maybe. Look, I might be wrong, these aren’t my specialty. You want to talk to their guy… whatshisname. The kid. Koller.” McCain squints, and adjusts his glasses. “But I’m kind of amazed we were the first to pick him up.”

“It’s pretty shiny.” Ivan rocks back on his heels. “Can’t see many Harvesters or Dvali passing on the Sarif. Which means there’s some bad shit going on.”

“Or it means they think they’ve covered it up so well that they’ll have stopped looking for him. He didn’t have any ID on him. Someone wanted him to disappear.” McCain wheels round in his chair, and sighs, then he shuffles it over to the table. He taps on the bloke’s freezing, scarred-up chest. “But judging from the electromesh under the skin… This guy’s got a TITAN aug. Hits like this shouldn’t’ve done for him.”

“Someone got a jump?”

McCain raises a finger. “ _The_  jump.”

Ivan glares back. “Next time, I’ll sell you. You correct my English and you can’t correct the hole in your fucking roof.”

They both pause for a second, listening to the dank drip of water on concrete. McCain tilts his head and concedes that. He needs to find a workshop that isn’t a glorified basement.

Then he regains his train of thought. “Yeah, but someone like this… He’d have radar. He’s milspec, he’s built not to be snuck up on.”

Ivan sighs. “I figured. Self-destruct? Something go crazy in his head again like the others?”

McCain sighs. “These marks…” He wheels himself back to the table, and touches his fingers to the wound at the guy’s temple. “They don’t look like augs. Or maybe not, I don’t know. I imagine these augs can change shape.” He looks at black and gold legs, a limp arm. “You ask me, it was someone he knew. It looks like he barely fought back, and I… I can’t imagine an aug like this not fighting back.”

“I didn’t. But figures. Who the fuck could  _that_ know? More of a weapon than a man.”   
  
McCain grits his teeth.

Ivan snorts. “You think it went to parties? Dressed up fancy? No-one puts a dress on a rifle. Unless they want to fuck it.” He tilts his head, and raises his eyebrows, giving the corpse an appraising look over. “You think it was red-light?”

“He’s…” McCain swallows, and doesn’t mean to lose the words. He just stares for a few seconds at that passive white face. “It’d be a waste, but he’d get custom.” He looks back to Ivan. “But it’s not our job to ask. How much do you think we’d get for the arms?”

Ivan blows out smoke. “They aren’t damaged, are they?”

McCain looks at him in disgust. “Look, a bit of riverwater isn’t enough to ruin these. Even if they aren’t Sarif, they’re… they’re beautiful work.  _Look_ at them. He must’ve known that too. These have had regular maintenance. We’ll get more for that.” He wheels his chair over to the bench, checks over black and gold fingers. “Someone just  _left_ all this in the Vltava?”

“It was more like a ditch.” Ivan waves his cigarette, gestures. “Sort of… little  _outside_  the Vltava. Technically.”

McCain sighs. “I told you, _none_ of it’s damaged. It’d take a bomb blast. Maybe not even then.” He touches two fingers to the marks of an infolink on the bloke’s forehead. They already took that out, but it was a pretty neat operation. They’ll get a lot for the CASIE, too. “Even if it’s not Sarif – look, you need an expert for that, I’m just… I’m an extractor, I fence it, it’s not the same – it’s… it’s goddamn  _something.”_

Ivan sighs, too. “You’re freaky when you do that.  _Creepy._ It makes me uncomfortable.” He rubs his hand over his forehead, and waves the cigarette. “Stop. Or next time, I stub this on you.”

McCain’s barely listening, as usual when Ivan starts with the threats. He runs his hands over a metal forearm. His fingers leave smudges on the finish, and he thinks absentmindedly that he’ll have to wipe them off before he passes this on. He hooks his fingers into a hacking node, examines it. “I mean, these were made… Someone loved him.” At Ivan’s raised eyebrow, he says, “Or someone loved the  _augs_ , at least. These – I think these are custom jobs. You know what those would have cost?”

Ivan huffs. “Enforcers make good money. Though I think this is more enforcers’ boss money.”

“Their boss’ boss’ boss.” McCain shakes his head, and turns the aug over in his hands. “These look like… a gift. All of it looks like that. Someone took their time.”

“You think it had a sugar daddy?”

McCain looks over his shoulder. “I don’t know. And I’d say this was a waste, but I need to make the rent and these are… I’ve never had my hands on anything like these before.  _Look at them_.” He puts the aug aside, and stands. “We need to sort out the rest. We can pass them on to Koller after. He’ll know more.” He puts his goggles on, and moves to take the saw.

“And after, the rest of it?”

“Put him back where he came from. The Vltava can deal with one more body. Until then, let me work.”

Ivan nods, and stubs out his cigarette on the wall. Then he leaves, and the door closing cuts off the sound of the starting saw.


End file.
